Lies
by Dutchman89
Summary: A twenty year old Herbert discovers his father's lies. Herbert/Graf von Krolock preslash, which also means pre-incest


**Title: **Lies  
**Author:** Slashydutchie  
**Fandom:** Tanz der Vampire  
**Pairing/character:** Graf von Krolock/Herbert von Krolock  
**Rating:** M

**Prompt:** A character finds out that his or her partner is something completely different than what they seem; something horrifying. Can be supernatural or not.  
**Other Warnings: **Father/son slashiness IS ahead, but not the way the first few paragraphs seem to imply.  
**A/N: **Reviews are extremely appreciated. Honored as I am every time I see a favorite story notification or similar, nothing quite compares to even a short message.

He lied to me.

He'd been lying to me all my life.

Every day one of my many nannies would tell me that daddy couldn't be there during the day, that he was a very busy businessman busy doing important grown-up things. That he'd be there later, just before bedtime, to kiss me goodnight and perhaps even tell me a story if I was a good boy.

They lied as well.

Oh, he was there. Every single night he'd appear in my room and I would be awake, waiting for him. I remember watching the sun set, feeling excitement swell in my belly with every passing second because he would be there once the orange orb had disappeared. Once it was dark he would appear in my room as if by magic. Often I didn't even notice him enter, I'd still be staring at the window when I felt him sit down on the bed beside me.

"Are you still awake, mein Engel?" His angel, that's what he called me. Still does. As if he has any sort of knowledge of such beings. Still, as I think back to it, even knowing what I do now, it brings a smile to my lips. There was something in his soft baritone that was deeply comforting and for all his lies part of me still believes he means it when he calls me his angel. Just like I'll always call him Vati, daddy, in spite of everything, despite the lies.

"Yes, Vati," I'd reply, sitting up and diving into his arms immediately. That always made him laugh and I loved pressing my ear against his chest so I could hear the deep rumble originate from there before falling from his lips, the sound even warmer than the embrace he wrapped me in.

As I grew older I began realizing just how strong those arms were, how secure they made me feel. To others my father might seem dark and imposing, but to me he meant warmth and safety.

Life at the castle was often lonely, in spite of the caretakers my father hired for me and when he told me tales of damsels locked away in a tower to be saved by a handsome prince I would find myself identifying with the damsel. As for the prince... well, my image of someone so strong, sweet and courageous was my father.

It took me a while to tell him. After all, he often spoke of how beautiful my eyes were, how much I looked like my mother and about the beautiful grandchildren I would give him. There would be so much joy and love in his blue gaze when he talked like that, it was heart-wrenching for me to tell him that that would never happen, but I'm not a liar like him, I couldn't keep it a secret from someone I loved.

I was twelve when I told him. He came into my room, like he always did, to say goodnight and tell me a story. Neither of us considered me too old for that and somehow I doubt either of us ever will.

Like so many times before I dove into his arms, making him laugh once again. The sound drew tears from my eyes as I fisted my hands in the rich fabric of his cape. I was convinced he'd throw me out, reject me for betraying him like this.

"Engel... what's wrong?" There was so much concern in his voice it nearly broke my heart, but softly I began explaining, telling my father of how I didn't want to be with girls, of my fantasies about a Prince Charming... everything except for who it was I considered my prince.

It wasn't until I'd finished talking that I realized he hadn't pushed me away, but had pulled me closer to him instead. Those powerful arms wrapped securely around me as he listened, his long fingers tracing intricate patterns on my back. Astonishment hit me as he began speaking, telling me that all he wanted for me was to be happy. That he himself knew those feelings too, no matter how much he'd loved my mother.

I was buoyed by his words. After all, if my Vati could feel it, then surely it couldn't be wrong. He said he still loved me, always would. I was so delighted I dared take the next step, kissing my father on the lips.

He kissed back, but not in the way my romantic fantasies had made me hope. I pressed on, asking him to stay the night. He agreed to stay and sleep with me, little did I know that the very idea of him sleeping was a lie as well.

Still, I didn't know that as he stripped down to his underwear, his pale skin contrasted by his long, dark hair. He was a lot paler than I'd imagined, something I foolishly contributed to the moonlight. Then again, how was I supposed to know of his lies back then? His body was strong like I imagined, though and I felt more safe and secure than ever as he laid down beside me and held me close.

That night I made a few more attempts to gain a higher level of intimacy. Wriggling against him, gently rubbing the arm wrapped around my waist, but all to no avail. By the time my father got up just before sunrise and placed a final kiss at my temple I resigned myself to the fact that I would apparently never be worthy of my father's love. Not in that way, even if he'd told me others could achieve it.

As I grew older I learned about morality, how fathers weren't supposed to do such things to their children. It didn't make my desires lessen, but at least it was some sort of explanation for his rejection, something to ease the pain.

And it was all a lie.

I believed his lies for a long time and it wasn't until my twentieth birthday that I finally figured it out. In retrospect, that seems foolish to say the least. All the clues had been there, after all, but it just wasn't in me to distrust the man who meant the world to me.

Now I had to face the facts, that everything I'd been told was a lie. My father was no businessman, he wasn't even human. He was a vampire and everyone knew vampires didn't subscribe to human moral values.

There was no justification for his rejection.

I should hate him. It would be justified. Yet I couldn't bring myself to it, even as I looked down onto the corpse that I knew by night would rise as the man I knew as my father.

As I crawled into the coffin I resolved to give him one last chance, then I closed the lid above us and like so many nights before... I waited.


End file.
